


In The Absence of Light

by Emptylester (timelordangel)



Category: Phandom, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:03:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelordangel/pseuds/Emptylester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Australian tour, things slow down. Dan's mental state gets bad again, and Phil takes care of him. It might be a little more complicated than either wish to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Absence of Light

After Australia, things slow down a bit. September begins slow and warm but quickly fades into cooler, shorter nights, which often find Dan and Phil sprawled across the sofa watching Stranger Things.

They’re both out cold when Netflix prompts them to press continue if they’re still watching, but Phil wakes to the sound of a distant door colliding with its frame before the screen goes black. He sits up and makes a face as his spine realigns and goes to shove Dan awake before hesitating. 

Despite spending most of their waking hours side by side, Phil hadn’t really paused to take a good look at his friend in a while. He shifts uncomfortably as his eyes gaze over the heavy, purple bags lingering under Dan’s eyes. He and Dan both lost weight on the tour, but Dan hadn’t eaten much after returning home- and his sunken collarbones and pale wrists show it. 

They are supposed to be recovering. It’s pyjama week part two- the time when they binge on takeaway and over-hyped films until they can’t stand another second in the flat. Phil’s almost back to normal, but Dan looks worse by the day.

“Dan.” Phil says into the suddenly overwhelming silence. 

“Mm.” Dan mumbles, his eyes briefly flickering open before squinting into the light.

“Bed?” Phil asks.

“In a bit.” Dan closes his eyes and leans back against the sofa.

“Okay.” Phil leaves the light on to encourage Dan to actually come back to life and move to his bedroom, but closes the lounge door. 

Phil finds himself adrift in his dreams, the captain of an oil tanker. He’s not brave or even sure what to do, but the ship seems to be well functioning and Phil swells with pride as the sea swells around the hull of the ship. He’s terrified of the deep sea, but somehow he can see every fish and even the sandy bottom and his eyes reflect the glimmering blue of the ocean.   
He’s hanging over the edge of the ship conversing with the stingrays when the ship runs aground and suddenly all he can hear is screaming. The bow tears into the rocky shore and Phil is jolted forward, falling swiftly into the unforgiving grasp of the sea.

He wakes up at half four in the morning feeling a bit weird.

He ventures to the kitchen to get some water and notices the lounge door is shut. With furrowed eyebrows he pushes it open and sees Dan curled into an ungodly position on the couch, fast asleep. He skips the water and awkwardly picks Dan up bridal style- Phil is stronger than he looks, but Dan feels lighter than he should. 

Phil deposits Dan onto Dan’s bed and pulls the duvet over him, Dan mumbling something before slipping back into unconsciousness. Phil lingers in the darkness, a strange feeling of guilt residing deep in his gut. He tries his best to shake it off and goes back to bed, begging sleep to take over before he can think any more.

The next morning, Dan walks into the lounge where Phil is on his laptop, a mug of coffee beside him.

“Morning.” Phil mumbles, not looking up from his laptop.

Dan doesn’t speak as he settles onto the sofa, his eyes flickering to Phil’s laptop screen for a millisecond before opening his own. “How did I get to my bed?”

“You fell asleep.” Phil hums.

“I fell asleep here. And I woke up in bed.” Dan seems upset, and Phil feels like he’s about to be shouted at. 

“I brought you to bed, so you wouldn’t hurt yourself by sleeping wrong.” Phil finally turns to look at Dan, and he’s met with a look. 

“Okay.” Dan says softly, resigned. He doesn’t have any breakfast and suddenly Phil’s bowl of cereal on the coffee table is glaring at the both of them.

“You want breakfast?” Phil doesn’t know why things have been so tense between them lately. Dan was fine the entire trip, but in the days following he’s been a ghost; he’s just a shadow of the friend Phil’s had for seven years.

It’s not like Dan hasn’t deteriorated to this state before. Before he dropped out of university, he had a mental breakdown that lasted a few weeks- Phil had taken care of him. It had been rough, but there was always an end in sight, and eventually Dan pulled through.

It takes Phil a minute to realise that Dan hasn’t responded to his question, but he doesn’t ask again. Phil is deafened by all they are not saying.

It’s a brief, unsettling moment of clarity, a flashback to 2012, when Phil decides to just get up and make Dan a bowl of cereal. So he does.

When he returns to the lounge with Shreddies and a soft, but firm, smile, Dan takes the bowl in his hands and stares at it. 

“Eat.” Phil commands, sitting back down and watching Dan take a hesitant spoonful. 

So they sit, Dan eating and Phil watching, for twenty minutes. When Dan sets the bowl on the coffee table, Phil drums his fingers on his thigh and speaks up.

“Has it gotten bad again?” He says so softly the hum of the streets below about drowns it out.

“Mm.” Dan bites his bottom lip and the skin turns white with the force- Phil fears for it.

“Can I help?” Phil reaches out a hand to gently place it on Dan’s shoulder. He’s met with sad eyes.

Dan just shakes his head. 

“No, I’m asking if you will allow me to help you.” Phil clarifies.

Dan nods ever so slightly. It’s progress, and if Phil wants to fix him he’ll need progress. 

“Okay.” Is the statement of finality, the end of the discussion. Phil gets up and leaves the room, unable to breathe the thick tension lingering in the air.

He washes the dishes, and puts the clothes’ washer load onto the drying rack. He’s going to be taking care of Dan for a little while, so he better get used to doing things alone.

When Phil returns to the lounge, Dan is gone and his bedroom door is shut. It’s silence, in the end, which Phil finds himself drowning in- the lights of the city speckled across the buildings bathed in the last few minutes of sunlight. The world never goes pitch black- not in the city. 

Phil misses the Isle of Man, where the light pollution dies down and in the winter months when the sun sets at half five in the evening it gets dark outside. Real darkness, like the kind the cavemen experienced after the fires died out. Darkness that surrounds and forces your pupils open to their full capacity- the kind that forces your eyes to find the smallest bit of light.

Sometimes it’s there; sometimes it’s not. 

Phil wonders if Dan’s okay as he tidies the lounge, his thoughts spilling out from all corners and cascading out of his brain. Niagara Falls of brain juice.

Phil makes a face, in a room alone, and thinks about when they went to Niagara Falls on the American tour. Dan was so happy the entire time on tour- a sharp contrast to the Dan he’d seen over the past couple weeks. 

It isn’t long before Phil makes frothy hot chocolate in the Universal and the Cesar’s Palace mugs. He loops both handles through the fingers on his right hand and holds his laptop in his left, and knocks with his left knuckles on Dan’s door.

He’s met with silence, but when he pushes his way inside Dan’s looking at him from the bed with his laptop perched on his knees. 

Dan wants to be hard, and stoic. More than anything he wants to want to be left alone, but he’s not that way. He’s not cold and harsh- he’s not even warm like the evenings in late summer. He’s lukewarm and bitter like the tea you forget about and chug an hour late when you happen to glance over.

He’s so tired. He hesitates, whether from trepidation or lack of energy he doesn’t know, and moves over, leaving enough room for Phil to join him on the bed. Phil sets the chocolates down on their respective side tables and sits down on the bed, shoving his glasses up his nose and opening his laptop.

They don’t speak, or look at each other. 

The only noise from the bedroom is the occasional sipping and staggered coughs from Phil, who’s still recovering. Dan wishes he cared enough to make a joke about Phil getting him sick, but he’s tired. Phil feels better pressed against Dan’s side, knowing he’s safe. 

They stay there until the mugs are empty and the sun is completely set, the weight of the day sliding off only to leave behind the weight of everything that needed to be finished by bedtime. Phil rubs at his temples, and clicks on another email.

“Work?” Dan mumbles, barely audible. 

“Yeah.” Phil says softly, his eyes flickering to the top of the email to see if Dan was cc’ed on this one. He was.

At some point, maybe traceable, maybe not, they’d become a hybrid. The horrific beast that was Dan and Phil. Phil figures it was inevitable; it’s ultimately a good thing. It’s good for revenue; it’s good for their image. It makes it easier for them to get jobs and stay on contract with the BBC, and it’s pretty damn fun. Not to say that Phil doesn’t miss being his own entity sometimes, but maybe he never truly was.

“What’re you thinking about?” Dan asks, not looking up from his laptop.

“Nothing.” Phil lies, refocusing his eyes.

“Sorry.” Dan’s voice is soft and Phil doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for but honestly he’s too tired to ask, and Dan’s too tired to refute. They’re very different kinds of tired; Phil’s can be fixed by sleep. 

Despite being away from home so frequently, Phil wants to go on holiday. A proper holiday, with no work or emails or shows. He wants to lie on a beach for hours and feel sunlight seeping into his bones. He rubs the knuckles on his left hand and swears he can feel the weight of the world he’s been holding. He’s Atlas, by choice. 

“I’m going to see my parents.” Phil says suddenly, after reading the email for the third time and still not comprehending a single word.

“Okay.”

“They’re going to the Isle of Man and I miss them, and we don’t have anything planned next weekend.” Phil nods to himself, forming the plans as he says them.

Dan doesn’t respond. 

“You’ll come, won’t you?” 

Dan turns to look at Phil with tired eyes, and Phil understands. He knows Dan is tired; he knows Dan’s in a bad place. More traveling is the last thing he needs. Still, he worries his lower lip and tries to convince Dan with his eyes. 

“It’ll be good, to get away from the city.” Phil murmurs.

“I don’t-“ Dan begins, but falters. He looks back at his laptop. “Not now.”

“Well, you can change your mind if you want. I’ll buy two train tickets just in case.” Phil shrugs, opening a new tab on his screen.

“Phil!” Dan says, and it’s the most forceful thing Phil’s heard him say in a week, “I said no. Not now, not next week.” 

“Okay.” Phil frowns, defensive. There’s a moment of silence that hangs like fog between them, and Dan’s vision is blurring with oncoming tears.

“Can you leave? I’m tired.” Dan’s fighting himself, not Phil, and it’s painfully obvious. Humiliation floods through Dan’s veins and he just wants Phil to leave. 

“Sure.” Phil presses his lips into a thin line and stands, gathering his laptop and leaving before things get any worse. 

 

A week and a half later, Phil’s on the train to visit his parents, and then they’ll travel together by ferry. After formalities, the first thing Phil’s mum asks is,

“Why didn’t Dan come, dear?”

“He’s sick of traveling.” Phil says, and it’s a half-truth. Dan is sick of traveling, but he’s also just sick. 

He’s caught depression- a strain of the virus that comes and goes with the seasons. Unlike SAD, (Seasonal Affective Disorder), It comes when Dan’s not preoccupied, and infects him in the slow moments between life’s events. It’s annoying, truthfully, to Phil. He wishes when they had a break from touring they could just be best friends who lie around and play video games- he wants that so badly. 

But he knows as much as Dan’s mental health annoys him, for Dan it feels like hitting pavement. It’s not fair of him to hate it. It’s not fair of him to act like this is his problem, his downfall, his anything. 

All he needs to do is take care of Dan and be a good friend, and ask for nothing in return.

“Shame.” Is all Catherine says in reply.

The ferry is always a fun bit for Phil. He stands with his arms on the railing of the top deck, one leg on the lowest ring of the barred railing. The warm, gusty wind whips his hair back off his forehead and dries his contacts, but he’s comfortable. He spends the entirety of the 30-minute journey staring at the coastline.

It reminds of him of his dream where he was the captain of an oil tanker and he crashed it. It reminds him of Dan, how is co-captain is crashing and he’s on a Goddamn boat hours away. 

He wants to check his phone but he’s afraid to drop it in the sea and refrains, but suddenly it’s burning a hole in his pocket. He goes back to where his parents are sitting and enjoying coffee out of polystyrene cups with little black straws. 

“Hi, Phil.” His dad greets him, grinning at the way Phil’s hair is completely quiffed.

“Hi.” Phil gives a half-smile, digging his phone out of his pocket.

“What brings you back under cover, I thought you loved to look over the edge ever since you were a kid?” His mum muses, looking like she wishes Phil was 10 again.

“Needed to check my cell.” He mumbles, reading an email he got ten minutes prior. Dan hadn’t texted him.

“Is everything okay?” His mum worries.

Phil’s first reaction is to snap that everything’s fine and he thinks he’s picked that up from Dan recently. He used to be so open with his parents, but how can you be open about a problem that’s not yours?

“Yeah, sure. Just work.” Phil shrugs, and gives a forceful smile. He’s not even sure if it’s a lie, because he’s furiously typing out a response to the work email. God, can’t the BBC leave him alone for four days? He wonders if Dan has read this email yet, and if he wants to go ahead and schedule the meeting.

“Leave work behind, son.” His dad is saying, and Phil can’t obey him for a minute.

“Impossible in this age.” His mum corrects, and Phil’s thankful. 

His parents launch into a discussion about technology and how far it’s come and Phil excuses himself to go look over the edge one last time before they reach the shore. He sees something jumping in the distance and he wants to take a picture to send Dan, but they’re too far and he’s too close to the water to be comfortable with his phone.

He thinks Dan would still like to see the dolphins, or whatever they are.

When the boat stills at last by the dock the air is calm and Phil takes a moment to rejoin his parents. 

“You seem so distracted,” his mum keeps saying. 

Phil can’t fathom why, as he texts Dan for the third time today. 

They reach the house and Phil’s anxious, his hands trembling as he buries them in his pockets and follows his mum around the house. It’s almost dinner time when Phil’s mum rounds on him, with wide eyes and a dish towel. 

“Philip Lester, what are you so riled up about?” She demands, looking up at her son.

“A little worried, is all.” Phil stammers.

“About what? Is everything okay with you and Dan?” 

Phil is so used to her talking about him and Dan like they’re a couple that he barely notices, but the mention of his name sends shivers of panic down his spine. 

“I-“ Phil begins, but his words fizzle out and he’s left gaping at her. Finally, because she waits until he can speak again, he settles on the truth. Isn’t it supposed to set you free? “Dan’s not doing so great, mum. He’s been a bit down lately.”

Bit down is quite an understatement, but he’s spent the last day trying to convince himself that Dan was fine. Never mind the face that two days ago Phil had to drag Dan off the stairs and force him to eat something, never mind that on Monday Dan didn’t sleep at all and threw up dinner- never mind that-

“Is it bad again, then?” She says softly, her hands falling from her hips.

Phil feels tears biting at the edges of his eyes and nods, worry flooding through him in a torrent. “I worry that I shouldn’t have left him.”

“He’s a grown boy, dear. He’ll be just fine.” She wishes she could pick Phil up like when he was younger, but now he towers over her so she wraps her arms around his waist. 

“I’m supposed to be taking care of him.” Phil laughs, void of humour. It’s a sharp and terrified sound. 

“Calm down, it’s okay. He’s going to be just fine. Why don’t you go give him a call?”

Phil nods blindly and pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s already on the screen of three unanswered texts, and he takes a breath before clicking “call”. 

“That’s my boy. It’s fine, Phil.” Catherine rubs Phil’s back before walking into the kitchen to prepare dinner. 

Phil’s left alone with his thoughts and the sharp rings in his ear: one, two, three, four, five, six- the number you are trying to reach is not available; please leave a message after the tone. 

Phil clears his throat and takes a shaky breath, “Hey Dan, just checking in. I, uh, saw some dolphins, or something, earlier. You would have liked them, but, uh, they were too far to photograph. Anyway, give me a call back.”

He hangs up and doesn’t feel any better, his guilt hangs over him.

Dan texts back eventually, with a “cool”, and Phil can breathe for the first time in hours. After that, he’s able to get more into his holiday and enjoys walking along the rocky coastline listening to music. He’s settled on a mellower playlist, one with a few Oh Wonder and Frank Ocean songs that Dan showed him. Because of course every aspect of his life has to have a bit of Dan in it, fuck. 

He doesn’t think about that too much. It’s uncomfortable, to think about where Dan and Phil lay on the platonic scale. Too comfortable, might be a good label. Too much. 

His phone vibrates hard against his leg and he pulls it out, smiling when he sees it’s Dan.

“Hey you.” He said breathily as he pauses and looks out over the sea.

“Hi Phil.” Dan says very softly, but he sounds more like himself. 

“I miss you.” Phil coughs a little.

“You too.” 

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” Phil kicks at a rock.

“Can you come home?” Dan whispers and Phil has to strain to here his voice over the wind.

“Uh.” Phil replies, taken off guard. “Yeah, of course.” 

He had two more days here, but not anymore. If things were bad enough for Dan to ask, he wasn’t going to back down.

“Thanks.” Dan says, like he asked a small favor. 

Phil knows this is hard for him, he keeps repeating this in his mind. Right now Dan needs him and he’s only been worrying himself sick over it, so he has to go home. He’s going to hurt his parents’ feelings, and he wonders when Dan started coming before them. He wonders when Dan started coming before everyone.

It’s too much to think about and he runs back to the rental house. 

His mum understands. His dad is upset. They both hug him goodbye when he leaves two hours later.

The ferry ride is less fun on the way back; it seems to take a shorter amount of time. A storm brews over the ocean and the heavy black clouds threaten to pour down on the ship. The water is rough and Phil’s stomach churns like the sea that’s tossing the ship (and him) around, he tries to focus and not throw up over the edge.

At least his mind is occupied. 

After a few hours he finds himself at the door of his flat and his hands shake again as he unlocks the door and walks in.

“Dan?” Phil calls, and there’s no reply. He walks past the kitchen and the same laundry he put out to dry four days ago is on the rack, the lights are all on in the flat despite it being light outside. 

“Dan?” He says, his voice more inquisitive this time than before. He drops his bag off in his room and knocks on Dan’s door. 

There’s a faint hum from inside and Phil pushes his way through the door.

Dan’s still in the pajamas he was wearing when Phil left two mornings ago, and the mugs of hot chocolate are still on the bedside tables. He looks rough. His hair is greasy and plastered to his face, and he’s squinting at Phil from under bedsheets.

“Hi.” Phil feels weird, like he’s being invasive. 

“Hi.” Dan slurs back, and Phil realizes that he’s been drinking. 

“No.” Phil whispers, closing his eyes briefly. “Please tell me you’ve done something other than lay here and drink for the past two days.”

“Um.” Dan laughs a little, and it’s weird and shaky but it’s kind of nice to hear.

“What have you eaten?” Phil presses, running a hand through his own hair.

“Um.” Dan says again, looking around like he’s trying to form a lie.

“Dan. Fuck.” Phil curses and it’s sharp and unusual out of his mouth.

They stare at each other for a minute.

Phil can’t help the affection he feels, even now, for his friend. His mind is churning and he’s trying to make a plan of action, something to help Dan get back on his feet. Even in the worst moments all he wants is Dan to feel better.

“Okay.” Phil clears his throat, putting his hands together. 

“Okay?” Dan echoes, squinting. 

Phil leaves. He takes the mugs and goes and loads the dishwasher and wipes the counters. He slips back into what’s the most comfortable place to be when Dan’s like this- housewife mode. When he’s done in the kitchen he goes and fills the tub with hot water.

Minutes later, he’s pulling Dan from bed and dragging him down the stairs into the bathroom.

“Lie in the bath and feel better.” Phil pleads, his eyes wide and scared. “I’m going to wash your sheets.”

“Okay.” Dan presses his lips into a thin line and stares back.

Phil takes a breath and presses his lips to Dan’s forehead before leaving. After he strips Dan’s bed and puts the sheets in the wash, he goes into the lounge and finds two empty bottles of Svedka, along with an empty bottle of Ribena. He doesn’t focus on it; he just tidies and turns on Comcast to play music through the house.

When he doesn’t hear from Dan for an hour, he realizes the time and bolts upright on the couch.

“Oh my god, I’ve drowned my flatmate.” He groans.

“Dan?” He raps on the bathroom door with the back of his knuckles.

“Come in.” Dan responds, sounding significantly more sober.

“Thank god.” Phil whispers under his breath before walking in.

Too consumed with the idea that Dan had drowned, Phil forgets about the fact that Dan is ass naked in the water.

“Thanks for the bath.” Dan hums, thankfully covered in bubbles.

Phil can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to Dan’s knees sticking out of the water.

“No problem.” 

“I don’t want to leave yet.” Dan’s eyes are closed.

“Do you feel any better?” Phil leans against the sink.

“Yeah, now that you’re home.” Dan says. 

They don’t speak again; they let the conversation linger in the steamy air of the small bathroom. It’s comfortable, verging on intimate, and Phil feels something deep in his chest that is a sort of craving, a craving for something he can’t name. 

It’s tight and consuming and Phil wants to rip his chest out or his heart, or fill himself with something but-

“You look constipated.” Dan frowns at Phil from the tub.

“Oh.” Phil unscrews his face and rubs at his eyes. “Sorry.”

Phil turns around to take out his contacts and when he’s done he hears Dan standing in the tub. He doesn’t turn around. He knows Dan is ass naked behind him and he shouldn’t look, so he doesn’t turn around. But he does look at the mirror. 

He doesn’t know why he’s trying to see his friend naked, he doesn’t know why his heart is pounding in his chest as he struggles to focus in the mirror.

Fuck, he just took out his contacts. He’s blind. 

Before he has time to do anything else the water is draining and Dan has a towel around his waist. He’s at the doorway when he pauses.

“Coming?” Dan asks.

“Yeah.” Phil tries to clear his head and follow Dan.

They go into their respective rooms so Dan can change but mere seconds after they part Dan is walking into Phil’s room, still in a towel.

“Where is my bedding?” Dan isn’t being mean; he knows Phil went to wash it.

“Crap.” Phil throws his head back- he’d forgotten to transfer it from the washer.

“It’s not going to be dry anytime soon, is it?” Dan pouts, but there’s not malice in his eyes.

“No.” Phil is filled with guilt again. He’s trying so hard to take care of Dan, trying to make everything better, but he left him and now he’s rendered Dan’s bed useless. 

“That’s okay.” Dan says softly before returning to his room.

Phil notices that Dan’s improving, but he’s still not back to normal. He hasn’t smiled once in the past couple weeks and it’s weird seeing Dan so stoic and empty. There’s no light there, not right now.

Phil thinks again about the absence of light. 

A lot of people say Phil is the sun, and Dan is the moon. Phil thinks it kind of fits- he definitely feels more like the day than the night. And Dan’s the moon- reflecting off his light.

He hopes he’ll never burn out.

 

It’s about one in the morning and Phil’s about to go to bed when Dan pushes open the door of his room.

Phil glances up but doesn’t speak, scooting over so Dan can sit down. He doesn’t expect Dan to climb under the duvet, however.

“I can’t sleep in my bed, no sheets.” Dan mumbles an explanation.

“You’re welcome here.” Phil breathes, closing his laptop.

They used to share a bed whenever Dan visited Phil in Manchester, and then later when Phil got his own flat and Dan was still in university. Dan had mentioned at one point to the Internet that platonically sharing beds was one of his favourite things to do. 

Phil gets up and turns off the light before climbing back into bed with Dan. For a moment he faces the bedside table and tries to even his breaths, but he is suddenly wide-awake. He clenches his fist and tries to focus on the sound of Dan breathing- but it’s not there.

Like two ships in the night, Phil feels so close to Dan, but so far away.

He succumbs to the urge and rolls over to face Dan. He’s met with big brown eyes, almost black in the darkness. Phil can still see the tiny specks of light reflecting off the edges of his corneas and he smiles.

Dan gives a small smile back, it’s warm and it’s improvement.

“Thank you, Phil.” Dan whispers, and they’re so close Phil can feel Dan’s breath on his cheek. It’s minty and warm.

“No worries.” Phil takes his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ll always come home if you need me.”

“I should have gone with you.” Dan says.

Phil wants to jump up and pack their bags; he wants to leave on the 7 am train and ride the ferry with Dan and spend the rest of the week on the island- but he doesn’t.

“Yeah.” Is all Phil replies, because this is nice. 

Lying with Dan on his bed with darkness surrounding them is safe and comfortable and right now it’s all Phil wants to do. 

Maybe.

Phil reaches out a hand to nudge Dan’s fringe back into place and then his fingers linger on the soft skin of Dan’s cheek. Without meaning to he drags his fingers along Dan’s jawline and then seems to realize what’s happening and he yanks his hand back.

“Sorry.” Phil mumbles, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay.” Dan whispers, and he reaches over to link hands with the same hand Phil pulled away. 

“Goodnight.” Phil squeezes Dan’s hand and closes his eyes, afraid of what more might come of this. He wishes this room were darker; he wishes they were drunk and there was music playing and all of these things would give him confidence.

They fall asleep holding hands and Phil dreams that they’re on a beach alone. They’re holding hands as they walk along the shoreline and Phil can’t keep his eyes off Dan’s face. It’s disgustingly hot. Everything feels so light, airy, and calm; Phi can’t feel anything at all but somehow he’s more comfortable than he’s ever been.

When he wakes up, he feels smothered.

He’s face-first in somebody’s back and he thinks he woke because he was running out of oxygen. He pushes back and gasps upward a few times before his heart rate steadies. Dan doesn’t so much as shift.

Phil untangles himself from Dan and slides out of bed, running both his hands through his hair. Honestly, it’s a bit much. He wishes he could have stayed in bed forever, and technically since he had planned to be on holiday he could, but he’s playing housewife until Dan gets better. And for some fucking reason that holds more importance in his mind than anything else.

In the shower, he wanks. It’s nothing special; he doesn’t think of anyone specific. Mostly he just goes through the motions and tries not to overthink anything. So it’s pretty surprising when he comes and gasps Dan’s name into the hot spray of water hitting his face. His lips part and drops of water drip down them into his mouth and taste hot and metallic on his tongue as he comes against his thigh. 

He feels like he should be freaked out, or confused, or worried. Somehow, he feels nothing. He wonders at what point he and Dan got so comfortable that everything feels natural between them. 

He wonders at what point he fell in love with Dan.

Is this last thought, one of many that constantly bounce around in his head, which makes him stop dead in his tracks. He’s brushing his teeth with just a towel hanging off his hips and he suddenly wants to throw up. 

When Phil realized he was bisexual, it wasn’t a gentle progression of events. He simply asked himself one day in the shop if he thought he might like boys as well and the result was a sudden moment of clarity that yes, yes he does like boys. And he picked up the Ribena from the shelf and carried on with his day.

In the movies, love is a slow realization. You notice it as you push her hair behind her ear and her face fades into red- you notice when he buys you coffee and recalls your order off the top of his head. You notice when your hands slip together on the bridge by her house, or when he stares at you a little too long. These moments collide to form a slow burning, but inevitable confession of love, which is both reciprocated and passionate. 

Phil is not so fortunate. No, in the middle of the busiest time of their lives with touring, making and editing an official documentary, organizing yet another book, and scheduling new radio show dates- it hits him like a goddamn freight train. Right there in the bathroom mirror. 

“Fuck.” Phil spits toothpaste into the sink and steadies himself with both hands on either side of the sink. It’s a minute or two before he can think clearly and wash his mouth out- he wishes he could wash his heart out.

Just like the shirts he gets hair dye on but can’t bear to throw away, he tosses the realization deep into the back of his mind closet and vows to not think about it.

He takes the now dry bedding from the drying rack and makes Dan’s bed, smoothing down the duvet cover before tucking it into the sides. Dan’s still asleep and Phil wonders if he’s going to be any better today.

He likes taking care of Dan, but he misses his best friend. This version is too quiet, too reserved. Phil will be there until Dan is all the way back, as always. The best way out is through, Phil reminds himself.

He finds himself standing in the threshold of his room leaning against the doorframe with a hand shoved in his pocket. Dan’s asleep on his back, shirtless, and the blinds make lovely stripes of light across his skin. 

Phil tugs at the edge of his t-shirt and walks over to the bed, gently shoving at Dan’s shoulder. As if he had already been awake, Dan opens his eyes and stares, expressionless. 

“You okay?” Phil asks. He thinks he might have meant to say good morning.

Dan shrugs against the bed sheets, feeling self-conscious under Phil’s gaze.

“I’m making breakfast. I put your sheets back on.” Phil averts his eyes, giving Dan some privacy to pull his shirt back on. When did he take it off last night?

“I’m not hungry.” 

“You haven’t eaten since I’ve been home, you’re eating.” Phil insists, shooting Dan a look.

“Okay, mum.” Dan mumbles under his breath.

“You’re not doing this.” Phil turns around properly and stares Dan down. “I’m helping you because you’re my best friend and I want you to get better. You don’t get to have me do everything and then treat me like that.”

“I didn’t mean-“ Dan cuts himself off and swallows hard. “I know. I know you’re helping and I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to snap.” Phil takes a shaky breath. “Didn’t Robert Frost say something like ‘Home is the place where you go and they have to take you in?” 

“I don’t know.” Dan replies, still sitting on the bed.

“This is home, you’re my home and I’m your home. And I will always take you in.” 

“This is a lot for ten am, Phil.” Dan stands up and crosses the room, taking hold of both of Phil’s wrists. “You don’t need to take care of me anymore, I’ll be okay soon.”

“No- I want to.” Phil breathes, their faces close. 

“Okay.” Dan says with an air of finality but makes no move to leave.

“Can I ask you something?” Phil’s voice is soft.

“Sure.”

“What is this?” Phil feels so unsure of everything all at once; it washes over him like the tide and his only tether to shore are Dan’s hands on his wrists.

“Us? I dunno. We’re what we’ve always been.” Dan’s eyes trail to the floor.

“Why don’t we date other people? Why is this…” Phil’s thoughts can’t keep up with him and he falters, looking back at Dan with wide, panic-y eyes.

“Phil, I’m a mess. Maybe not always, but right now I’m a mess. I don’t want you to feel like I’m anything better.” Dan forces out a laugh but it’s dry and sharp.

“I can’t, I can’t look at you and be around you and not wonder what’s going on anymore. I’m thirty, I think I need to figure something out.” 

“Don’t go.” Dan whispers, fear seeping into his voice. “I love you.”

“Dan, I think I’m in love with you. Like properly, and I don’t know if it’s just my mind picking up on context clues for the past seven years or if it’s genuine or if it’s because I’m getting older and you’re still all I can think about when I’m on Goddamn holiday with my parents, but-“ Phil takes a breath, “I think I am. In love with you.”

Dan drops Phil’s hands and takes a step back. “Phil- I can’t. I can’t you know right now I can’t do this.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything!” Phil corrects himself, “I just needed to say it. I don’t even care that much, we’re so close what does it matter?” 

“I wish-“ Dan begins, but Phil cuts him off.

“I don’t want anything from you right now, I promise. Just for you to feel better. Can I ask one thing, though?”

“Sure.”

“When you’re better, can we talk about this?” Phil pleads. 

“Yeah, we need to.” Dan gives a small smile and Phil would do anything to see a real smile. 

“So I’m going to go make breakfast.” Phil says calmly, “Do you want pancakes or what?”

“Pancakes, duh.” Dan says, and Phil can see light returning. It's shimmering behind the brown in Dan's eyes. 

“Alright.” Phil nods and heads for the kitchen.

There’s light pouring through the kitchen and into the rest of the house. Dan’s bathed in sunlight as he leans against the window in his room and the lights are on in the stairwells. There’s so much light, it’s neither blinding nor dim. 

They never know what’s coming next. It’s been seven years and they’ve always been there for each other; invaluable support systems just a room over. And at some point they turned into something more, maybe. But it doesn’t really matter, not in the end. They’ll talk about it when Dan feels better.

When Phil feels better.

And until then, Phil thinks as he pours batter into a pan, it’ll be okay.


End file.
